Property of Mr J
by A.B. Trerron
Summary: A series of unrelated erotic "short shorts" starring the one and only Mr. J and his lovely shrink.
1. Nasty Rumor

Property of Mr. J

1st Vignette

"Heard a nasty rumor about you at lunch today, Doc." Joker twitched his brows suggestively at his comely psychiatrist.

She sauntered toward him, a smile playing on her full pink lips as she brushed a soft wisp of blonde behind her ear.

"And what rumor would that be?"

He splayed his legs dominantly in the overstuffed chair Dr. Quinzel kept to make her patients feel comfortable in her space. As if that had ever been a problem for him.

"A little birdie - believe it was a Crane - told me you fuck your patients." He slithered his tongue seductively out to trace his scars. He almost missed the aftertaste of the greasepaint Arkham's staff had taken from him upon arrival. Then again, with regular showers and no makeup, all he had to do was vomit a sob story and bat his brown puppy eyes and the little split-tail's skirt was around her ankles in no time.

Today the good doctor hiked that darling little skirt up past her thighs and straddled her patient's lap. She leaned in to kiss his scarred cheek and whispered, "Just one."

He was surrounded by her - her baby powder smell, her pert little tits that barely peeked out of her unbuttoned blouse, the hot damp split between her sweet thighs, just begging to be fucked. He squeezed her hand harshly and shoved it down to his already throbbing hard-on.

"That's not what he said," Joker growled.

"Ja-a-ay," she whined through pouted lips and batted her soft blue eyes. "You know Crane's a liar. I wouldn't even give him a date back when he was a doctor here."

He nipped at her collarbone while his fingers wandered beneath her panties, probing her folds. She was bare but for a small blonde trail pointing to her clit. She was also deliciously wet.

Her eyes suddenly widened. "What did you tell him?"

He smiled at her, half reassuringly, half mockingly. "I told him Dr. Quinzel, _my_ doctor, was a saint, and if he ever called _my_ doctor's honor in question again, I'd cut his tongue out and feed it to him."

"Oh J…" She sighed with both relief and ardor, and cupped his face with both hands, running her thumbs lovingly over his scars. "You're so chivalrous. We may have to work on more, uh, healthy expressions of disapproval, but still… such a sweetheart to defend your lady's honor like that."

"What can I say? I guess I'm just a born gentleman." He tore her panties to one side and stuffed his whole thick cock into her opening, grinning when she winced at the shock.

He grabbed her hipbones and bounced her furiously up and down his shaft, growling when she buried her face in his neck and helplessly curled her fingers around his green tinged hair. He shoved one hand between them and rubbed her clit angrily.

She made what sounded like an "ow" noise at first, but quickly turned into a series of gasping, whimpering, desperate moans into his ear.

"Who's the only man who gets to fuck you, little girl?"

She cried out his self-given name, and when he exploded into her with a loud grunt she toppled violently over the edge herself.

After a few moments, both of them laying there still connected and panting, she nuzzled his cheek and softly told him, "Of course you're the only one, J. Always."

He stifled a giggle and patted her head against his chest, licking his lips and grinning at how easy it was to wind up his toy.


	2. Joke's On You

Joke's On You

"What the-?"

Now this was a strange situation. One minute Joker had been idly scheming in his cell at Arkham Asylum. Suddenly he found himself bound to a chair with thick ropes, and he was, oh crackers, completely nude. He giggled.

"Huh. Well well well, Joker ol' boy. Looks like we finally went bonkers for real."

"Oh, I wouldn't necessarily say that."

He was now face to face with a lady. A very naked lady with a blurry face.

"The fuck kind of drugs did the blonde put me on?"

She sauntered toward him. "Oh no, Mr. J. You're not hallucinating. You're _my_ wet dream."

She smiled and traced a finger from the end of one scar over his lips to the end of the other. "And you're about to make my wildest dreams come true."

"Note to self. Ask for drugs that give the naked lady hallucination better lines."

She chuckled and straddled his lap.

He felt her breasts press against him and began to squirm. "You're not going to bad-touch me, are you? My therapist wouldn't like that. Not. One. Bit."

She tweaked his nose. "Oh Mr. J, I'm going to do much more than just touch you."

Shit.

"Okay, now look here, Broad-in-my-head. I don't know if the MAO-inhibitors relayed the message to you, but I'm not really into the whole, y'know, hanky-panky thing."

She giggled. "I didn't say I cared whether or not _you_ were into it."

He rolled his eyes and laughed at her. "Yeah, okay lady. Look, I can't get it up if you're into it, so uh good luck trying to ride my big rubbery one."

She thumbed his lower lip. "Looks to me like you've got a perfectly acceptable mouth. And I'd love to know what those scars feel like against my wet hot cunt."

Double shit. Time to take things a little more seriously.

"Sweetpea," he growled and bared his yellowed teeth. "I'm a psychopath. Don't think I won't bite your lips off."

"In that case I'll just have to rub my hard little clit all over you until I cum. Oh and Mr. J-"

"Mr. J?" What the hell was all this "Mr. J" tripe?

She whispered in his ear, "I'm a squirter."

His eyes and mouth widened. "Oh for the love of-! You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" She began grinding against his flaccid dick, running her hands up and down his bound body, moaning and groaning as she rubbed her slick slit against him.

He struggled angrily at first, shouting and moving as much as he could in a vain attempt to disrupt her rhythm, but eventually realized she got more enjoyment from the friction of his struggle. He gaped at her in a mix of disgust, confusion, and sheer horror.

She moaned his name loudly as she came, and true to her word, squirted all over his lap. Then she dipped a finger into her dripping cunt and traced her juices over his scars.

He stared incredulously at her. "I-I never thought I would say this, but… _I_ feel violated."

She curled her fingers through his green hair and laughed. "Guess the joke's on you this time, J-Man."

"Yeah yeah, oh ho, haha," he snarled. "Look, will you just go away now so I can, oh God I can't fucking believe this, go sit in a cold shower or something?"

She grinned. "See you around."

He jolted awake, covered in a cold sweat, and sat upright in his rack. He was wearing his inmate scrubs again and the blurry-faced naked lady was gone. Dr. Quinzel sat calmly in a chair across from him.

"Good evening. Just dropped by to see how your new medication was treating you."

"Yeah, about that, Doc. I'm _not_ a fan. And uh, I don't really want to talk about it right now, but I think I'm gonna need a lot more therapy."

The corners of her mouth twisted into an unnerving smile wider than he'd ever seen on her. "Whatever you need, Mr. J."


	3. Killing Harley

Killing Harley

"Harley, Harley, Harley Quinn. What a sly little minx you've been. The first time we met, I gave serious consideration to ripping your gullet right out and leaving you twitching on your office floor. Wait… Oh yeah, you were there, so you already know that. I had my hands around your throat. And just as I was about to squeeze the life out of your fragile little body, you looked into my eyes, your baby blues all swollen from the pressure. And you _smiled_. Smiled! Like you had just won the fucking lottery. And I thought, sweet mercy, I've met some weirdos in my day, but this one is a very special breed. You really freaked me out, and that's saying something. But you also made me… So. Hard.

"After that, it was business as usual for a while. You playing the fine upstanding doctor, me the manipulative psychopath that just needed your love and sympathy to get better. But we both knew better. It was a game. The Bat was momentarily out of the picture, so I needed someone new to corrupt. The job you'd clung to for stimulation was still not enough for a dame of your caliber. And I convinced myself that your fall from grace was my doing, that I had seduced you over to my side by getting inside your head. It should have been painfully obvious how much you always wanted me inside you.

"I imagined you as my little protégé, my student, and the closer you got to going off the deep end, the prouder I was. The truth was, you always got it. See, you and I understand the way the world really works. You're a smart girl, Harl, always were. Too smart for your own good. Like me. The truth was, you never needed a push, not even a little one. You just needed an excuse. And there I was, hand-delivered to you in a straight-jacket, all wrapped up like a present.

"Now, I'm not crazy. Not really. Oh sure, the whole 'psychopath' thing - but that's not quite the same as hearing voices, now is it? I play crazy sometimes, when it suits my needs, but in reality I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm like that kid that tells his parents he doesn't know any better because he's 'just a kid.' Except, there are times when I think I really have lost my marbles. Example: for years I thought the first time we fucked, I had raped you in your office. Then I got a hold of some security tapes from Arkham. Uh, whoops.

"Let me paint a picture for you: there I am, all reclined and cozy on your office couch. We're chatting about chaos and the absurdity of order, and I am just _dominating_ this conversation. And I'm so pleased with myself - I have this smug smirk going on and everything. And then you get out of your chair. You saunter over. You sit on my lap. You take your shirt off, your little tits bounce out in front of my mouth. Which is hanging open, by the way. Right there, with one simple act, you manage to- Steal. My. Show. And what do I do? I just keep laying there, alternating between gaping at you like a fool and grinning like a jack-o-lantern while you ride my cock. What if it had been the other way around? Can you imagine the shock? The feeling of absolute violation I had? Can you?

"After you broke me out of Arkham, I convinced myself that you were just another one of my goons. Just some crazy fan girl I could use at my whim and then neatly dispose of when I got tired of you. Hell, even Charlie Manson had groupies, why not me? And I know you had to notice that you just so happened to be the only one of my lackeys that didn't wind up dead. I insulted you, I starved you of attention. Even when I nearly beat you to death, you just kept coming back for more. I mean, it was too illogical, even for my taste. Then I found your stash. The flowers you had carefully pressed, the love notes, the apology letters. In _my_ handwriting. Even I couldn't deny that evidence. Oh Harl, what have you done to me?

"I'm sure you've had it in your head that someday I'd realize how much I really cared for you, and that when I did, we'd finally settle down to the pitter-patter of little law-dodging feet. As fond as I've become of you, my sweet, I'm afraid it has to end here. You see, I'm a one-man show, and I can't have you, ahem, distracting me from my work any more. I hope you can take some consolation in that fact that this time, it _is_ personal. And you can believe me when I say that I'll really miss you. Which is more than anyone else ever got. Oh there, there. Don't worry, my love. I'll make it painless."

He pulled the trigger. His goon, still gagged and tied to a chair, fell backwards into a puddle of his own blood and brain matter.

"Ah," Joker sighed, tucking his notepad back inside his overcoat. "Good to be back out of that funk."


End file.
